


The shortest way to a happy ending

by Laure001



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:30:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/pseuds/Laure001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You could disappear with me, Quinn. Do you really have such a wonderful time killing people here in Berlin? We could start over. I would find a way to get Frannie back, and we could begin a new life together."</p><p>"Right. Great. Not interested. Now, excuse me, but I've got a fucking picture to put in a fucking box."</p><p>
  <b>Complete!</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No. Wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in episode 5.04, "Why is this night different?". This is a world where Carrie has been dating Jonas for three months only.  
> Chapter 1 was my attempt to solve all Season 5 plots in one short fic (I think it works!). But the story took a life of its own and I added five other chapters.

\- I go in, I drop it off, I get the next name on the list, said Quinn.

\- Then we wait for someone to pick it up?

\- Then we wait for _Saul_ to pick it up. And when he shows up, we leave, Carrie. And you get as far away from here as possible. Agreed?

\- Agreed. 

Quinn was opening the car door, when Carrie suddenly added:

\- No. Wait.

\- What? said Quinn, harshly, seating down again. (He slammed the car door shut.) What is it, this time, Carrie?

She took a few seconds before answering.

\- I’ve been thinking. Frannie’s safe…

\- We had this conversation. Frannie is not safe. 

\- She is safe for now, which gives me a little time to think about… other issues. 

\- We've got no time for this.

\- Yes we do. Fuck, Quinn, it’s easy for you. You’ve been doing this for the last two years, but I… I need to wrap my head around this.

He was looking at the windshield.

\- Yes. This is easy for me.

Carrie made a desperate gesture.

\- I need to… When I disappear, everything will be over. All the different… components of my existence. I will never have the chance to make some things right. And let me start now, she said, with a sudden violence. With you. You’re an asshole.

\- Well, thank you. Can I go put the fake picture of your fake death in the box now?

\- I’ll be gone soon enough, Quinn. And don’t you worry - you'll never see me again. Can you at least grant me five minutes?

\- We don’t have five minutes.

\- Of course we do. And anyway, I’m fucking having this conversation, whether you want it or not. If you leave this car, I’ll just wait here for you to come back. If you… walk away, I’ll just drive back to this cheery little place of yours, and camp there, near your... tuna and your huge stack of guns. So really, you should listen now, if only to get fucking rid of me sooner.

He didn’t answer, just stared right ahead, and Carrie continued.

\- When I was back from Missouri, I had a lot of time to think. About… us. About all the things you did for me, Quinn. All the times you protected me, and I didn’t realize it, or appreciate it… And now you saved my life again. So whatever happens next, I just want to say that I get it now, and I want to say thank you.

\- I don't care.

\- OK. But also, know that I had decided to say yes. Yes to your plan to… try life… together. I came back too late, and that’s the part where you’re an asshole for not waiting, but I get it. I was awful, on that last phone call. You can’t imagine how many times I've replayed it in my head, thinking about ways I could have phrased things differently.

She waited for him to say “I don’t care” again, or to yell at her, but he just kept watching the busy street, with an air of perfect indifference. Carrie continued.

\- I was out of the CIA, and I had all the time in the world. So I kind of analyzed our… friendship in my head, kind of obsessing about it really. And I think… I realized… That maybe you had been having feelings for me for a while. That maybe I misinterpreted a lot of things.

\- Yeah. Still not caring. I am not that man anymore.

\- Fair enough. (She paused.) But I am that woman still. The one who had to lose you before realizing that she was in love with you.

No answer.

\- And yes, I realize that you just want me gone, whispered Carrie, but I'm not willing to take any more chances. We missed each other two years ago because of a misunderstanding. Because of a stupid phone call. Because you didn’t wait. Because I was a fool. So I just want everything to be clear now, even if you’re saying no. I want everything on the table. So there can be no missed opportunity.

\- Everything is on the table, I am saying no, and there is no opportunity to miss.

\- Good to know. Because if there was... a missed opportunity, I mean… If there was still… If you did still... Then you could come with me.

This time he did look at her.

\- What? Come with you where?

\- You could disappear with me. Do you really have such a wonderful time killing people here in Berlin, Quinn? We could leave, you and me, together. We could start over. New identities. I would find a way to get Frannie back, and we could begin a new life together.

\- Right. (He gave a dry laugh.) Great. Not interested. Now, excuse me, but I've got a fucking picture to put in a fucking box..

And he opened the door for the second time, got out of the car for real, and began to walk toward the post office, while Carrie was silently watching him. 

Did she read him wrong? _No I didn’t_ , she thought. _I didn’t_. She had told the truth – how she had spent months obsessing about their last years together, and yes, she didn’t understand him at the time, she couldn’t decipher him, but now she could. 

She could. Right?

He was still walking.

_I’m not wrong. I’m not._

And then he stopped. 

Right there before the post-office entrance. People were passing by on the sidewalk, children were getting out of a school somewhere, talking and laughing, little girls in their mothers’ arms. Quinn was not moving – he just stood there.

And then he turned around and walked back to the car.

He got back into his seat, slammed the door shut, and just stayed there, silently, not looking at Carrie.

She didn’t say a word – just waited, her heart pounding. Not looking at him either. 

He took a quick breath.

\- I… 

And then he stopped. He put his hands on the wheel, realized they were slightly shaking, put them back into his lap.

\- If we... Then… Then we have to go back to my place, so I can get my passports, he said, his voice hoarse, still not looking at Carrie. And, er, money. 

She didn’t answer for a while either – her voice would have betrayed her.

\- Sure, she said finally.

\- And we cannot get Frannie back. It would be too dangerous. For her. For you.

\- Not right now. Of course, not right now. But in six months or so…

He just nodded. Not, she suspected, because he agreed with her, but because he was waiting for the right moment to convince her. Not that he would. 

Another pause, he was still not looking at her, and she thought about touching him, but didn’t, it seemed too soon, she thought he might jump out his skin, so she just waited. 

\- I’ve still got to… I’ve still got to put that stupid photo in the box, he finally whispered. This works only if they think you’re dead. And then I guess I’ll just have to fake my own death too. 

She nodded – watching him, his every movement - then he opened the car’s door, for the third time, when suddenly Carrie straightened.

\- No. Wait. 

He gave a weak smile.

\- It’s ok, Carrie, he said, in a very low voice, still looking anywhere but at her. No need to make another speech. You have me.

She hesitated, and then asked:

\- Really? 

\- Yeah. You... You do.

She gave a little laugh.

\- You do play hard to get, Quinn.

He whispered:.

\- I really don't.

There was another silence, and then she said:

\- But it’s not… about that. It’s… your death. I mean…

\- Yes?

\- I know you still think Saul put my name in the box. But let’s say that I’m right, just for a moment, let’s assume someone did infiltrate your operation. Wouldn’t they want you dead too? Because you could talk to Saul. In fact – Carrie gestured towards the post office – this could be a trap.

Quinn closed the car door, for the third time, and, at last, he looked at her directly. Brows furrowed.

\- That…, he answered slowly. That… is actually... a very good point.

 

**

The man in the post office opened his eyes wide when a huge red-headed man just seemed to appear in front of his counter. The guy was a sort of biker, he guessed, with his long hair and long red beard and leather cot and… huge, kind like a Viking.

\- Hey man, said the Viking. (He showed a key and an envelope.) There’s a guy in the street, he walked to me and my gang, gave us fifty euros so we would deposit this envelope in a box... Box number… 147. He gave me this key, too. So, what do I do?

\- The boxes are over there, the man said, gesturing towards the other room. (147. Wasn’t that the box which…? Fuck. Fuck.)

\- Thank you, said the Viking, and he walked toward the boxes.

The man behing the counter took his phone and began to text frenetically. But Quinn’s car was long gone.

 

**

They were driving in silence – Quinn was at the wheel, they had to get the passports, the money, the weapons. 

Lots of money, he said. And lots of weapons. 

Then, the train station. 

\- Maybe we should warn Saul, though, Carrie whispered, after a while. That there is a breach.

\- Fuck him. He’s a big boy, said Quinn. He’ll figure it out. 

\- Wow, you’re cold.

\- He was director of the damn CIA. I think he can manage without our help.

\- Er, ok… That’s one way to solve the plot… 

\- Yep. Saul will save the world on his own. End of this fucking story.

\- Ok, repeated Carrie, watching the busy Berlin’s streets.

Streets that she was leaving, forever. A whole life, that she was leaving, forever. 

There was a red light – Quinn stopped – then suddenly turned to Carrie.

\- Hey, don’t you have a boyfriend?

Carrie shrugged.

\- Yeah. Well. I was never really that into him anyway.

 


	2. Getting it out of the way.

So now they were back in Quinn’s “place”, preparing their departure. They were working in silence, Carrie putting medicine and money in a suitcase, Quinn looking through papers and sorting out guns.

\- You cannot take guns with you on a train, she said. Not in Europe.

\- I have a system.

\- Really?

\- I put my guns (plural, Carrie noted) in a little pink suitcase with some, you know, unicorns or glitter or… child stuff on it. Then I spot a family with kids, put my suitcase near to their luggage, and go sit somewhere else. Nobody even glances twice. Then, on arrival, I just wait for them to leave, take my suitcase back, put it in another bigger grey suitcase, and off I go.

\- Clever.

\- Thank you. So. (There was a pause.) Where are we going?

Carrie kept staring at the money for a few seconds. They had not talked since their discussion in the car near the post-office, they had not touched, nothing. Which was a little weird after… a mutual declaration of love, cause that was what their conversation was, right?

\- Well, she answered cautiously, what is your exit plan, Quinn?

\- Nigeria. What is yours?

\- France.

\- France? I thought we were avoiding terrorism?

\- In the country, in Auvergne. Mountains, in the center. The area is gorgeous. There is this little hamlet – like ten people, fifty cows – up near Mount Sancy. Isolated but not too much. From there you can walk to another nice little village with a market and shops, and then there are real towns, at a 30 minutes car ride or so. With, you know, computers, restaurants, theaters, hospitals, bookshops… and schools. A really good school system, in fact.

\- Carrie..., he whispered.

\- Don’t… Just don’t say it. I can picture starting over, Quinn. Again. But I cannot even… fathom it without…

He didn’t comment, just said:

\- Your exit plan is better than mine. 

\- So, France?

Quinn nodded.

\- Yep.

And then silence, and they were putting things in suitcases again, but it felt like the tension was growing. With all the things kept unsaid.

Finally Carrie could not take it anymore. 

\- Quinn.

He didn’t turn. Kept looking at the papers. Then he asked, slowly.

\- You changed your mind? 

\- What? No! (She asked slowly.) Have you?

He gave a little laugh.

\- No. 

Carrie shrugged.

\- I guess it’s just a little weird, that’s all. The fact that we are… (She smiled.) Actively not talking.

Quinn turned and smiled back, but it was a cautious, wary smile.

\- I’m just wondering.

\- Tell me.

\- So, you want me to go with you. On your new life.

\- Yes.

\- Not… as a friend.

Carrie half laughed, half… something.

\- No, Quinn. Not as a friend.

\- Your boyfriend. Jonas. You couldn’t bring him. He has a family here, and he’s… not that type. Is that why you are bringing me instead? You don’t want to be alone, and I’m more qualified to protect you?

\- Oh, for God fucking sake.

\- It’s a fair question. You use people, Carrie.

\- Not anymore. Listen… I… Fuck, how come you’re the one acting all insecure…? 

In other circumstances, Carrie would have laughed at his scandalized reaction to the word “insecure”. She continued, with a smile:

\- I’m the one who spilled my guts in the car. I’m the one who should doubt… you.

He gave a smile too - a tentative, shy one. 

\- Didn’t we established that I had… How did you phrase it? That I had "feelings for you for a long time”?

\- We didn’t establish anything. I rambled about it, while you were saying things like: “Shut up”, “I don’t care”, or “Are you finished?”

\- Well, consider it established.

\- Ok, then.

He paused, before repeating:

\- Ok.

\- Ok, she breathed, feeling… almost dizzy, and he was looking at her with this vulnerable, passionate look that she had taken years to recognize.

\- Ok, he said again, and he turned away.

They got back to preparing things, and there was still tension. But a very different kind of tension. The best kind of tension. And, again, Carrie could not bear it, and after an eternity (fifteen minutes, at least!) she said:

\- We should just fuck, you know. We should just… get it out of the way. 

Quinn turned to her, and… well, the word “flabbergasted” may have been invented for just such an occasion.

\- “Get it out of the way”? That’s romantic.

\- It’s just… it’s still weird. We, not touching, considering the circumstances. And… I’ll have you know that, yes, I can be romantic. I am a romantic, actually.

\- I know. I remember, said Quinn, very matter-of-factly.

The allusion to Brody didn’t unsettle her. In fact, it was good to have someone who knew her, knew her so well, who understood all the crazy layers.

\- Because, see, Quinn, now I can’t concentrate. Because I’m wondering how it would feel for you to touch me, and I shouldn’t let my mind wander. It’s a dangerous time… The next few hours, the next few days... I should concentrate on being efficient, but I cannot. Cause I’m picturing it. 

He was smiling, watching her, with this oh so amused look on his face. 

\- You’re picturing it?

\- Stop being so smug. 

\- Am I naked in this picture?

\- Oh. My. God. Please.

\- Am I any good?

\- Go to hell. 

\- Am I very good?

\- Did you ever… picture it?

\- Mmm. I don’t know, it might have happened once or twice…

And now they were just staring at each other, silently, happily. Which was so good. She was so sick of the dramatic tension, of all the tragedy, all the fucking time. Even a few minutes, a few seconds of contentment – it was so precious.

Quinn took a step toward her.

\- Ok, so. About this “we should just fuck” proposition. I really see no good reason for refusing.

\- But now there’s all this pressure.

\- No, no pressure. We just “get it out of the way”, like you said. We keep the good stuff for later. Right now, just something brutal and unromantic, twenty seconds top. Maybe thirty. Just getting it out of the way.

\- Ok. Fine. Where… You don’t even have a bed. 

\- I do have a bed. 

\- It’s tiny. It’s… military.

\- The floor then. Perfect for getting things out of the way. Hey, let’s go crazy and make it to forty seconds.

\- Ok, she said, laughingly, not quite knowing if he was serious, if it was really going to happen, but he took another step, and suddenly he was very serious, and so was she.

He touched her face, in a slow, tender way, and Carrie remembered the moment where he smeared blood on her, saving her from the angel of death, and she did the same thing – just touching him lightly, as if he was unreal, as if he could disappear from her life again, like that, in a puff of smoke, and then suddenly he was kissing her almost desperately and she didn’t really remember how it happened, and then, yep, on the floor, and it was uncomfortable at first, but then it wasn’t, and it lasted much, much longer than forty seconds and it was not brutal - in fact it was very slow, and when it accelerated he whispered something in her ear – during one of the more, er, final part – but she didn’t really catch it, and she knew better than to ask afterwards. 

It was at least forty good minutes before they stopped even the post coital kisses and just laid silently on the concrete.

\- So that was the unromantic sex, she whispered, after a while. I can’t wait for the rest.

\- Just getting things out of the way.

\- Are you going to hold this… unfortunate choice of words against me for the rest of my life?

There was a pause, and then he answered “Hopefully”, in a very low voice, and she just hold him tighter, and breathed:

\- So, does that mean, that’s it? We do get a happy ending?

\- Well, sure. Right after I find a corpse that looks like me and pour acid on his face, and after I’ve given him my clothes and thrown him into the river. And let’s not forget getting out of this town alive, and, maybe, in six months or so, smuggling a child through international waters… But, yes, sure. Happy endings. 

She gave him a kiss, then thought about the “smuggling a child through international waters” part.

\- God. I’m going to need a lot more money. 

\- Oh, no worries. I’m loaded.

\- You are? How?

\- Getting a very, very good salary, and living on tuna for the last fifteen years?

\- Why on earth didn’t you tell me this before?

\- Would you have slept with me sooner?

\- You bet I would have.

\- Big mistake on my part then.

She laughed, and just kissed him again, and Quinn really didn’t know about the ending, but right now, yep, he was happy.


	3. France.

Saul Berenson entered the house. 

The door was open. Today, most doors were – it was la “fête des voisins” (the neighbors festival), a sort of summer celebration, where everybody had lunch together, outside, a potluck in the southern meadow, near the fountain. All the villagers, except they were not really villagers – the only true local guy was René – a farmer, he was the real deal, he had lived all his life here, in this hamlet in the mountains, with his cows, his fields and his chicken. But the others were all urbanites, who only stayed here with their kids during the summer, or for long week-ends. 

(Saul knew all this, he had done a lot of research before taking a plane to Paris – after that there was still the long train ride to Clermont-Ferrand, and then he had driven one hour to Eglise-Neuve, on the little mountain roads, and from there he had just hiked through the forest, before arriving where he wanted to be.) 

So yes, those people eating lunch outside today were mostly Parisians, artists, architects, producers, writers – this kind of people – who enjoyed their hipster low key country/mountain dwelling during the holidays. Only six people really lived here all year round. René, of course. A couple of senior citizens who had owned a restaurant in Lyon in another life. And an American couple, with a little girl. 

The woman did some teaching and some translation work, the guy did officially… nothing. The little girl was now six.

This was their house.

The door opened directly in the living area. Inside, the air was cool despite the blazing mountain sun – it was an old house, two hundred years old at least, with extremely thick stone walls which protected from the heat, from the cold (and from machine gun fire, if necessary). The furniture was old, antiques bought locally for cheap, Saul guessed, there were children toys scattered everywhere, stacks of books and magazines… also two laptops on the table and a terrible mess in the kitchen – clearly someone had done a lot of cooking in the morning, for the big lunch, certainly. A Wi-Fi router, and at least one alarm – but Saul had figured that it would be off today, with the open door and children running everywhere.

Saul climbed the stairs to the first floor. There he found the child’s bedroom, the bathroom, and a sort of office. And then the master bedroom, and considering both the masculine and feminine nature of the clothes thrown casually on the chairs, the mess of little objects on the two night stands (reading glasses, lipstick, condoms, books)… yep, his main question was answered.

He slowly made his way back downstairs, and was thinking about inspecting the garden, when the muzzle of the gun touched the back of his head.

\- Don’t you fucking move.

\- Hello, Quinn, Saul calmly said. 

\- Try anything and I’ll shoot.

\- How you’re going to explain the detonation to all your friends in the meadow up there?

\- Not your problem. Frannie!

\- What are you… protested Saul, but Quinn just pushed him behind a huge antique cupboard, hiding him from view from the entrance. 

\- Frannie! Quinn repeated, and Saul couldn’t see her, he just heard the little girl’s steps.

\- But I’m playing with Adrien! she said, before Quinn had even asked anything. 

\- Frannie, go get your mother, right now… at the big table. Tell her I’ve caught a skunk in the house. Then go back to play, but don’t come back in here – I’m spraying some of this nasty bug spray again. So, no one can come in the house this afternoon – no one. You just play at Mona’s, ok?

\- Can I play with Adrien’s I-pad? 

\- Yes. If Mona agrees.

\- Can I plan the Sad Little Pony’s game again?

\- Yes. Frannie, just go fetch Mom right now, ok?

\- OK!

Frannie ran away, and Quinn just waited, the gun still on the back of Saul’s head.

\- Why aren’t you at the lunch, Quinn? Not your scene?

\- Where are the others? 

\- What others?

\- How many? In the woods?

Saul sighed.

\- There are no others, Quinn. I’m alone. I just…

And suddenly Carrie was here, she had been running, she had a gun in hand – it must have been hidden somewhere near the porch – and she was saying “Quinn! How many…” and then she just stopped, mouth slightly agape.

\- Saul…

\- Carrie, Saul whispered. Thank God. Thank God. (Carrie was just staring at him, completely stunned.) I’m so glad to see you alive, he added, despite Quinn pushing the gun harder.

\- Shut up, asshole. Carrie, there’s a swat team somewhere waiting for us. Get me a silencer.

\- There’s no team, Saul protested. And please do not get him a silencer. 

\- Shut up. Carrie, don’t listen to him. He’s gonna try to…

\- Saul. Saul… Shit, Saul, Carrie muttered. What on earth are you doing here?

\- The picture, Carrie, Saul answered. The one in the box? The one of your execution? I just wanted to check…

\- Well, you’ve checked, Quinn snarled. She’s alive, and now, you’re dead. Let’s go to the basement.

\- Believe me, I have absolutely no wish to see the basement…

\- Quinn, Carrie sighed. We’re not going to kill Saul.

\- Why, thank you, Carrie. See, Quinn? We’re not going to kill me.

Quinn shook his head.

\- His explanation makes no sense, Carrie. The picture was taken three years ago. 

\- Yes, Saul said. I saw it three years ago. But I couldn’t do anything about it then, because Dar Adal was still alive.

They both stared at him – there was a silence, and then Saul added:

\- Listen, I am not so young anymore. And I just spent half of my morning trekking in the forest, to be sure I was not followed. Can I sit down? Have some tea or something?

\- Sure, Carrie said. Yes. Of course. Sorry.

She looked at Quinn, who rolled his eyes.

\- Of course. Let’s have some fucking tea.

**

There were madeleines in the bowl. The tea was hot, the seats were comfortable, Quinn’s gun was stuck in Saul’s left side, not too far from his heart. 

\- They had tied me to a chair, Saul was explaining. I had a gun to my head – kind of like today. And sh… and the traitor was interrogating me, trying to break me. It has been a long day and a long night of torture - mostly psychological, they wanted me alive…

\- Who were they? Carrie asked. ISIS? The Russians? The Chinese?

\- I can’t tell you, Carrie. It’s classified… and believe me, it should stay that way, because it was a fucking clusterfuck. They showed me the picture, telling me… “See? Your protégée is dead.” 

There was a pause. Saul sipped some tea.

\- I know we were estranged, Carrie. And yes, I was still mad at you… I was so damn angry, but when I saw this… The photo of your execution, I… 

There was silence for a while, and Saul shook his head. 

\- And then the traitor said: “And now for the best part… Guess who killed her, Saul? Guess who? You did. With your little operation. We put her name in the box, and Peter Quinn put a bullet in her head. Isn’t it ironic? You murdered her.” And it was indeed ironic – that the traitor thought she was putting the final nail in the coffin, but really, that’s where I began to doubt the truth of it all.

Carrie and Quinn both noticed the “she”, but they didn’t comment. Saul continued.

\- I asked what had happened to you – to Peter Quinn – and that’s when they told me they found your disfigured body in the river, and I thought… Right. Isn’t that convenient? So suddenly I…

\- Hey guys! So how is the bug spraying coming along? Carrie, are you coming back to lunch?

It was a female voice, at the door. They all jumped, Carrie almost spilled her tea – before turning to the newcomer and stuttering:

\- Mona!

There was a tense silence – Quinn lowered his gun just a little, to hide it behind the chair. Carrie stood up nervously.

\- Hi, Mona.

\- Hi, said Quinn, teeth clenched.

\- Hi, said Saul.

Mona was a woman of sixty, always very elegant, with her organic linen clothes and her organic beauty products and her fair trade jewelry – she was Adrien’s grandmother, and a nice, but very nosy woman. She entered – without waiting for an invitation– and Carrie walked quickly towards her, to prevent her from going further inside the room. 

\- Yes, of course, Mona, I’m coming back soon… (She shot a glance at Quinn.) So did we say… that we were bug spraying? 

\- Yes we did, confirmed Quinn, in a low, dangerous voice. But then our guest arrived.

Carrie turned to Mona.

\- Yes, absolutely, we were going to, but… then our guest arrived. Mona this is, er, Bernard, Bernard, this is Mona.

\- Hi Mona, repeated Saul, dutifully.

\- Hey, Mona, you know what, let’s… go outside and let the men talk. (Carrie took Mona by the arm, almost dragging her outside, while Mona was trying to get a better look at “Bernard”.) See, Carrie added, in a conspiratorial tone, Bernard is a potential investor for the “Honey and Turnips” plan. For Quinn.

\- Ooh, but that’s wonderful! said Mona. (She tried to glance inside again.) Does that mean that he… that this Bernard has a lot of money? He’s not a bad looking man…

\- Well, no, he’s not, hey, listen – I’m so sorry for missing part of the lunch, Mona, and so sorry I stuck you with Frannie…

\- No, that’s fine, she’s at Vincent and Claire’s, all the kids are there, they’re watching Frozen – again…

\- Great, yes, Mona, listen, I really have to go back there, with Bernard, to you know, make nice, and smile… I’ll join you as soon as I can, and er, I’ll tell you everything tonight, ok?

\- Ok, sure, said Mona, who reluctantly went away, and Carrie came back into the house, just when Quinn was saying:

\- God. I hate Mona.

\- What’s the “Honey and Turnips” plan? Saul asked.

\- There are no turnips, said Quinn, exasperated. It’s… Just… Shut up. I mean… What happened next? he asked, while Carrie was sitting down again. Are they the ones who… Did they kill Dar Adal?

\- No, said Saul, darkly. No. What happened… we killed them all, is what happened. We won. I was the one who… I put a bullet in the traitor’s head myself.

Saul was silent for a while, before saying:

\- Dar Adal died four months ago. In unrelated circumstances.

It was Quinn’s turn to pause. 

\- How? he finally asked.

\- I can’t tell you. 

\- Was he killed?

\- He was a – he was a fucker and a hero till the end, Saul said. And we will remember him. That’s all I can say.

\- I’m sorry, Carrie whispered. (She wasn’t, really, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Then she added:) That’s when you came looking for us.

\- Yes. See, I was still suspecting something was fishy. That maybe you weren’t dead, but the thing was: Dar suspected the same thing. I knew he wanted to look into it. Someday, when he got time. And if he had found you…

\- Desertion, said Quinn. A bullet in my head.

\- Oh yes. And in Carrie’s too, I suspect. Just because she was a wild card, because she could talk, just… to tie up loose ends. So I was kind of spying on Dar, hoping he wouldn’t get to focus on this particular issue – and he never did. He never got the opportunity. So as soon as he was gone, I got hold of both of your files, I officially confirmed both of your deaths, then I buried everything, and that’s why I’m here. To tell you that you’re now free. That it’s over. Nobody will ever look for you again. 

**

After this, they just talked for a few minutes – at least Carrie and Saul did. Quinn was silent, thoughtful, and he still hadn’t lowered his gun. Then Saul asked:

\- Now I want to speak with Carrie alone. 

\- No, said Quinn.

\- Quinn, sighed Carrie. Wait. I get to decide.

\- It’s not about anything work related, or security related, Saul added. It’s a personal matter.

Quinn looked at Carrie, then lowered his gun. He still seemed very tense, Carrie thought, even somber. 

\- Let’s take a walk in the garden, proposed Carrie.

\- No, repeated Quinn. You’re staying inside. In the wine cellar. Go.

Saul looked at Carrie, who just nodded her head – they went to the kitchen area, and Carrie opened a little wooden door on the left, which led to a small room, smelling of moss and dirt and old wood, with the wine bottles neatly stacked near the southern wall. Carrie closed the door, and they sat on the derelict wood benches, silently, facing each other.

\- Well, that’s a cheerful sitting room..., stated Saul.

\- There are no windows, explained Carrie. And your arrival put Quinn’s in Black Ops mode. Saul, what’s the problem? Are you all right? You’re not sick, right? Or…

Saul chuckled.

\- I am not sick, or dying. I’m… fine, actually.

\- How’s Mira?

\- We’re divorced.

\- Oh God, I am so sorry. I…

Saul raised his hand.

\- Carrie, we don’t have a lot of time. I must be in Geneva tonight – nobody must know I took a little detour, so I can’t miss my plane. (He leaned toward her, and smiled, that warm, sincere smile that he always had for her till five or six years ago, before disagreements and work ethics had begun to tear them apart.) I have nothing special to say, really. It’s just… chances are I’ll probably never see you again, and I just wanted to tell you face to face… without your bodyguard, or a gun pointed at me… I just wanted to say again how glad I was to see you. Alive. Breathing. Happy.

\- I’m… It’s so wonderful to see you too, Saul. We left things badly, you and I… and I never knew for sure… Well, I was convinced you didn’t put my name in the box, but…

Her voice trailed off, and Saul nodded.

\- Imagine how I felt when I saw the picture. Yes, I doubted your death, and Quinn disappearance seemed weirdly fortuitous… But… what if? What if it had been true? What if Quinn had put a bullet in your head, what if I had condemned you to death through my illegal operation… How ironic indeed. What an awful, cruel moral tale it would have been.

\- I’m so sorry. The picture… We just wanted… 

\- To survive. I get it. It was the right thing to do.

Carrie smiled – looking at Saul – studying him, for the last time, wanting to preserve the memory.

\- Saul, I want to thank you. What you did for us…

\- No, wait. I am not over. Let’s… touch another topic. 

\- What?

\- So… Peter Quinn.

\- Yes… What… (Carrie chuckled, incredulous.) Are you… disapproving? (She laughed again.) Don’t tell me you came all this way to tell me you don’t like my boyfriend.

\- He is dangerous, Carrie. 

\- Sure. But he is not a danger to me, or to Frannie.

\- How can you be sure? He took a dark turn during the last two years of our collaboration. He was depressed. Suicidal. And he’s is a murderer.

Carrie scoffed.

\- Saul, I don’t want to start a fight, not today… but fuck, you’ve got some fucking nerve. Quinn was working for you! You made him kill people.

\- Yes. And that’s why I know exactly what he is capable of. Also, I read the psych reports. 

\- You’re talking to the wrong person about psych reports.

\- Ok. 

There was a silence. Carrie could see Saul staring at her, thinking hard, trying to find the words.

\- Ok, he repeated, at last. You’re going to be offended by what I’m going to say now, but listen anyway. And don’t interrupt me. (Saul paused.) You did the right thing to… take Quinn as a companion, when your life was in danger. Seducing him was the right move, not that he must have needed a lot of seducing, from… some reports I read. (Carrie opened his mouth but Saul raised his hand again.) No... No interruption. He certainly saved your life, and I suppose he was instrumental to your installation here, and he’s been protecting you all these years. But… you’re safe now. See what I’m getting at?

\- Saul…

\- Maybe you got attached. But… I want the best for you. And I’m just saying… You can reevaluate your life now. That’s all. And that’s it. End of my speech.

\- God. (Carrie shook her head, then laughed.) God. It’s… I can’t convince you, Saul, I know that. Not if you have to leave in a few minutes. But it’s not what happened. 

\- Really.

\- This is not a play. It never was. It’s… You know what, I don’t get it. I thought you liked Quinn. 

\- I do. Well, I did, cause really, I was not so fond of his attitude today. But anyway... The qualities you look for in a good hitman and a good operative are not the same that the ones you look for in… (He hesitated.) …in the companion of someone you care about dearly. 

Carrie shook her head again.

\- You’re so sweet, Saul. You’re also completely wrong, but… This is so sweet, and so completely misguided. But thank you for caring. And thank you for… What you did, with the files. What you told us. This is life changing. This is… the greatest gift I’ve ever received. You just offered us freedom. And peace. You’re giving us a new life.

\- I’m glad, said Saul, again. (He looked at Carrie a long time, with sincere tenderness. Then he shook his head.) I’m glad. But God... you always had the worse taste in men.

 

**

And then Saul was gone, and Carrie and Quinn were left alone, both thoughtful, standing apart in the huge room, with the stone walls and the scattered toys and the tea and the madeleines and the guns. 

\- Well, that was… interesting, Carrie whispered. I am sorry Dar Adal is dead, Quinn. For your sake, I mean. 

\- Yeah, I’m not. Well… I don’t know. Maybe I am. It figures, that he died heroically. The fucker had guts.

\- Yes, he had. Listen, Carrie added, after a silence, I know that you don’t want to believe Saul, but…

\- No, I do believe him. It doesn’t make sense for this to be an ambush. We’d be dead already. And Saul put his life in our hands.

\- Exactly.

Quinn frowned.

\- Unless, of course, he wants something from us. Unless they’re listening to us now – if Saul bugged the place…. I’m gonna sweep the house tomorrow. I’ll go to Clermont-Ferrand, buy some stuff…

\- Quinn…

\- After what happened, you have to let me switch into paranoid mode, Carrie. At least for a few days.

\- Sure.

She thought he was going to head for the woods now, sweep the area, disappear for hours, maybe for a week – he had already done it - but he just opened the cupboard, took out a bottle of Avèze and two glasses, and poured. 

Then he handed one to Carrie.

\- To Dar Adal, he said. Who would have thrown our bodies in a ditch if he ever had found us, but still. Fearless motherfucker.

\- To Dar Adal, said Carrie. God. I can’t believe I just said that. 

They drank.

\- So, said Quinn slowly. What did Saul had to say?

Carrie looked at the table.

\- It’s…. Nothing important… Listen, I will tell you if you ask me. But it’s… frankly a little stupid, and kind of embarrassing.

\- Tell me.

\- Well… Saul thought… That maybe you and me… That we were not… (The she saw the glint of amusement in Quinn’s eyes and swore.) You were listening, you asshole.

\- Of course I was. There’s the new aeration hole, remember?

\- You fucker! So what? You were testing me?

\- Not really. I was just curious to see how you were going to phrase it. You know, how you were going to tell me that Saul thinks that I’m not good enough for you.

\- He didn’t exactly said…

\- He said much worse.

\- Yeah. He did. Do you… Did it bother you? What he said?

Quinn chuckled.

\- No. Of course not.

\- Good, said Carrie, relieved.

She closed her eyes – the tension was evaporating slowly – it seemed the world around her was getting real again, she was hearing the happy noise of the lunch on the southern meadow, the faraway conversations, the muffled laughs, the leaves of the oak tree rustling in the wind. The others must be finishing dessert now, drinking home made prune liquor (not for the faint of heart, she did a drinking contest with René the farmer once, René won - but barely.) She imagined the youngest kids laying down in the grass, Frannie laughing with her friend Rachel somewhere, playing video games.

\- So if you do want to ditch me, now would be a perfect time, said Quinn.

Well, fuck.

Carrie opened her eyes.

\- I’m glad to see the conversation with Saul didn't bother you, she said.

\- It didn't. 

\- Clearly.

\- It’s just… I had a similar feeling for a while.

\- What?

\- I kind of thought that maybe you were playing me. 

Carrie answered slowly. 

\- I remember. You told me, back in Berlin. But I thought we… Do you still… think this way?

\- No. Yes. (He shrugged.) Sometimes.

\- Quinn…, she whispered, horrified. 

\- Well, it was a fucking successful recruitment that you did that day. Turned me around, completely, in twenty minutes. I mean, you’re that good. One conversation, and you made me leave everything… to follow you.

\- Fuck, Quinn. (She was furious. She was hurt.) I thought we had a good life here. I thought we were happy.

\- We are, said Quinn, emotion creeping into his voice too. We are. I am. 

\- Then... what? she yelled. What? You don’t trust me?

\- I… (He began to pace up and down the room.) Carrie, they’re just dark thoughts… They happen to both of us, right? 99% of the time, I’m just… I completely believe in… And then, sometimes. You know, you have your demons too.

\- Yes. But they’re not about this. I don’t have doubts about you and me, she said, rage in her voice. I don’t… 

\- Hey, Carrie, hey, Peter! Listen, would you by any chance have another pack of coffee?

And that was… Céline. Céline’s voice, Céline’s herself, at the door, looking at them, smiling, waving an empty coffee pot. 

\- Because Vincent was in charge of the coffee but he forgot, and I think we need more…

Céline was a slender red-headed woman with glasses. 30 years old, a high school maths teacher, very nerdy, recently single. A little shy, always nice, even Quinn had to admit that he didn’t totally hate her.

\- Sure, said Carrie. Coffee. Of course.

She grabbed a coffee pack under the wooden kitchen counter, walked across the room and handed it to Céline, who was watching them closely.

\- Are you guys fighting? she asked.

\- We’re not fighting, muttered Carrie.

\- Please don’t fight. Please. I mean, you guys give me hope. When I see you both…

\- We’re not fighting, said Carrie very distinctly, and Céline got the message, turned around and disappeared with the coffee. (Carrie turned to Quinn.) Are we fighting?

\- No, he answered, his voice raw with emotion.

And suddenly, they were in each other arms – Carrie never remembered who took the first step - but they had both crossed the distance that separated them – and they just hold each other close, not even kissing, just holding tightly, and then they sat down, near the table and the cold tea, holding hands.

\- Well, that was a nonsensical fight, Carrie whispered.

\- Yes. It was. Sorry. I blame Saul.

She laughed.

\- Of course. So, she whispered. Are we good? 

\- Yes. Yes, we are. And you know, you’re right, Quinn added, after a pause. What he told us today… That’s life changing news.

\- Exactly.

\- It’s… As I said, it’s gonna be a while till I feel we are completely safe, but it means… I don’t know, we can take steps. For example… Forget the bee hives investment 

\- What? You’re going to abandon the “Honey and Turnips” project? 

\- There were never any turnips. Turnips were never in play. You and Mona made up that name. 

\- It sounded good.

\- The farming idea; it was because we were stuck here, and we wanted to be discreet. But now I can do something more financially viable.

\- You still want to go into business?

\- Yes. Don’t know what business yet, but… yes.

\- God. Your poor competitors. You will be ruthless.

\- And we can… travel, said Quinn. Or… do you want to move? Let’s not go to Paris, not with all the embassies and the tourists. But we could live in a bigger town.

Carrie hesitated.

\- I don’t know, she said slowly. I like it here. Do you want to move?

He was deep in thought for a while, then shook his head. 

\- No.

\- Quinn, she whispered, after a while. (They were still holding hands.) I hope you know… I hope you do know… 

She still can’t say it, thought Quinn, exception made when she had said something close to it in Berlin three years ago. Then, never again. But he didn’t say it either, and he certainly… well, what he felt for Carrie had been very clear, very quickly. He remembered the exact second he… fell. 

Just before she went to the hotel to meet Brody that night. The moment she turned to him, with that shy smile, and told him she was nervous. The moment he fell in love. 

God. When was that? The first day he met her? 

She was waiting for an answer. Quinn kissed her hands, one after the other.

\- I know. Sorry. It was just me being crazy.

\- Gee, craziness. I don’t know if I can relate.

There was a companionable silence, and after a minute, Carrie poured them two new glasses of alcohol.

\- Besides, for the next twenty years, you’ll be the one thinking none of Frannie’s boyfriends are good enough for her.

\- For the next twenty years? he repeated, smiling.

\- Well, that’s the plan. That’s my plan, anyway. Is it yours?

\- Of course it is.

They drank in silence. Then Quinn whispered.

\- You know, the truth is… For so long I didn’t have a future, he whispered. So sometimes, I wake up, and I can’t believe what I have now. 

They didn’t say anything after that, they just stayed very close, holding hands again. Then Carrie stood up. 

\- I’m grabbing a coat and going back to the lunch – or for what’s left of the prune liquor. It will rise less suspicion… And also, you know, I actually like these people.

\- And Saul thinks I'm the crazy one, he commented, while Carrie was disappearing upstairs, and of course, that’s when Mona showed up at the door.

Again.

\- Hey… Er, hi, Peter, she said cautiously. 

She had good reasons to be cautious, Quinn hadn’t always been – as polite as he should have been. But of course that didn’t dissuade Mona from coming inside the room, without waiting for an invitation. Well, when you leave the fucking door open...

\- Hi, Mona.

\- So, that nice man… Your friend Bernard… He left? she asked, looking everywhere, as usual. I didn’t see his car… Did he park near the river?

Quinn did his best to hide his irritation.

\- Yeah, he’s gone.

\- Oh, too bad. I was going to invite the three of you at my house for tea…

Mona took a few more steps.

\- Hey, is that a bottle of Avèze? 

\- Yes. (Quinn shook his head. This was his life now. And sometimes, you just have to accept your fate.) Yes it is. (He sighed.) Mona, can I offer you a glass?


	4. Radical Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm stealing an idea I had in my other fic, "Every Tuesday and Thursday in Islamabad", and expanding on it. Please consider than the fics happen in parallel universes where Carrie has the same ideas and Quinn the same secrets.)

\- Frannie, don’t play in the water. You’re going to catch pneumonia, said Quinn. 

\- God, Carrie mumbled. You sound like my grandmother.

They were relaxing on the grass, in a communal meadow at the edge of the trees – nobody ever went there because the forest blocked the view, but it was, of course, the main attraction for Frannie – the forest and the stream, where she could try for hours, unsuccessfully, to catch shrimps. Quinn and Carrie had plaids and cushions, books, i-pods, and there was nothing to do but to wait for the summer afternoon to turn golden and for the sun to slowly set behind the old, venerable mountains, new fire shining on the ancient volcano stone. 

But now, it was only 4 pm, and the sun was still blazing hard.

\- She could catch cold, he said. If her clothes get wet.

\- Oh come on, Quinn, said Carrie, putting down the book she wasn’t really reading anyway. Didn’t you play in the water in the summer? When you were a kid?

\- I don’t remember, said Quinn slowly, not getting his eyes off Frannie.

He felt Carrie’s attention on him – so he stood up and walked to the stream, pretending not to notice.

\- Are you cold, Frannie? 

\- No I’m not! she answered – of course, Quinn thought, a kid would never admit being cold or sleepy (not when they wanted to keep playing) – and Frannie added, with a hint of challenge in her voice:

\- And mom says I can go into the forest alone. If I stay inside the perimeter.

\- What’s the perimeter? 

\- It’s a reasonable perimeter, muttered Carrie, still laying on the grass, twenty feet behind them.

\- What are the limits of the perimeter, Frannie?

He never used any pet name for her, Carrie noticed. Just “Frannie”. He never called her “honey”, or “sweetie”, or anything of the sort. But then he also just called Carrie “Carrie”, and she was a satisfied customer.

\- To the end of the lane on the right, never farther that the fallen beech, and never ever crossing, not even touching Mr Moretti’s gate on the left.

\- That’s good. Thank you, Frannie. The perimeter’s too big, Quinn whispered to Carrie, returning to sit down on the blanket again.

Carrie rolled her eyes.

\- It’s not too big.

\- What if there were… 

\- Yes? Please finish that sentence.

\- Wild dogs? 

\- Sure. They meet every Thursday to play cards.

\- Wolves?

\- Wolves, oh… Right. And please don’t forget piranhas. They’re the worst.

\- Snakes?

\- There are no dangerous animals in those mountains, Quinn. None.

\- What if she plays with a pointy stick and falls?

\- She isn’t allowed to – and it can happen in our garden anyway. You know, Carrie added, after a pause, me and Maggie, when we were kids, we dueled with sticks. 

\- And look how you turned out, said Quinn warily, because he could see Carrie’s coming for a mile. 

And, indeed - he didn’t have to wait long. 

\- You know everything about me, Carrie stated. But I don’t know anything about you.

He picked an insect off his sweater.

\- You know stuff.

\- I know recent stuff. But I don’t… (Quinn wasn’t looking at her, so Carrie took his hand, and began to stroke his wrist.) We have this deal, right? The radical honesty arrangement.

\- We do.

Saul Berenson had come to visit, six months ago, and after he left Carrie and Quinn had gotten in a sort of strange, twisted fight… and that’s when they had made the deal. “We have to talk to each other about our weird stuff”, Carrie had said. “When we feel crazy things and when we have crazy thoughts. We just… say everything aloud. Even if it’s awful… then we deal with it – together. Radical honesty.” Quinn had agreed, and the concept worked really well – in fact, Carrie had found, she had a lot less crazy thoughts since she knew she could say them aloud and not fear rejection.

\- So, said Carrie, if we’re supposed to tell each other everything, how come I know nothing about your past?

\- Those are not the terms of the deal, said Quinn, obviously uncomfortable. We have to say what we think, not what…

\- Not what we did? Not what we are?

\- I am not my past.

He stood up, went to Frannie again, clearly to avoid scrutiny. 

\- Dad, I’m making a prison for shrimps, Frannie stated. 

\- What did the shrimps do? 

\- I don’t know. But maybe it’s also a castle. Adrien says that every house can be a castle. 

\- That makes sense. Adrien is wise beyond his years. 

Frannie jumped to her feet.

\- Then I need more wood.

Quinn slowly walked back to Carrie, who was waiting patiently for her prey. He sat down, and she cuddled near him, suddenly all sweetness, putting her head on his shoulder and kissing his neck.

\- You’re so fucking transparent, he muttered.

\- Yeah? Well, I’m ready to make the game interesting.

\- How?

\- You tell me stuff about you – about your past. You’re the one who decide what to tell. And for each new information, you get a kiss.

He shook his head, but couldn’t help smiling.

\- How is that interesting? I get kisses all the time for free.

\- Yeah, but those will be special. Heartfelt.

\- As opposed to all the indifferent ones we generally share?

\- Fine. Sometimes you’ll get kisses, sometimes you’ll get compliments, sometimes you’ll get… sappy stuff.

\- Yeah… (He stretched in a very theatrical way.) I don’t know. Maybe I’m not the sappy type.

\- Are you playing or what?

There was a long pause.

\- Maybe. Let’s try it, he said, very cautiously. 

Carrie jumped on her feet, looking super excited – exactly like Frannie had just done a minute ago, and Quinn was silently amused.

\- OK, great! she said happily. But we need coffee first! 

Then Carrie ran toward the house – Frannie was coming back from her forest perimeter, carrying wood. “It won’t be a house for shrimps after all. It will be a house for squirrels!” she explained, before adding: “And for my Barbies. The house will have human furniture and animal furniture. They’re really different, you know.”

\- Did you know Barbie first husband was a squirell? said Quinn.

\- C’est même pas vrai, said Frannie in French, exactly with her friend Rachel’s tone.

\- No, it is true. In fact squirrels marry Barbies all the time. 

Frannie just rolled her eyes, and Quinn lied back on the cover – yeah, he had a moment of exasperation when Carrie alluded to his past, but now, to be honest – the sun on his face, Frannie playing happily, the woman he loved coming back with coffee and all excited about a game where the worst that could happen is that he got kissed for telling her the name of his best friend from soccer practice – yeah, he had known worst afternoons.

So when Carrie came back, with a thermos and two goblets and a huge smile on her face, she was greeted with a happy expression and one of those looks – that Quinn had, sometimes, when he saw her, something in his eyes which was difficult to define, a mix of joy, love, and longing – Carrie never commented on those looks, never let him know that she noticed them, she just “took” them silently, like gifts.

\- OK, she said, and she poured two goblets of coffee, but he didn’t move, just stayed down, looking at her. So, you’re the one who plays, really. You tell me stuff, and I decide how to reward you.

\- It’s not difficult to imagine a different version of this game. A much more interesting version. We’d play at night…

\- Shut up – we’re playing now. And by shut up, I mean please talk. I’m listening.

\- Ok, well… my best friend from soccer practice was called Mehdi.

\- Mehdi. Duly noted. Anything else?

\- Hey, where’s my kiss?

\- That’s not kiss worthy. I need more.

\- What? You’re changing the rules!

\- No I’m not, I’m just the one deciding how much your information’s worth. Give me more, and you’ll get more.

\- Ok, like what?

\- Where did this soccer practice take place?

\- Not far from Seattle, Quinn said, after a brief hesitation. A little town, south of the Canadian border.

\- Ok, she said, and lied down to kiss him – a real kiss, and he made a little groan of satisfaction.

\- That’s better. 

\- Did you grow up there? In this town?

\- Yes, he said after a while.

It was more information that he had ever given her, and she hesitated a moment, before asking:

\- Quinn, why is it so difficult for you to talk to me about this? I mean, seriously. You don’t give a damn about secrecy anymore, right? (She paused. He didn’t answer.) Was it… so bad? 

He didn’t move – just stayed down, on the cover, looking at the sky.

\- It was pretty bad. (Frannie was now throwing stones in the water.) But I didn’t lie to you before. The truth is I can’t remember most of it. 

\- Well, that is new information, Carrie said. And we’re still playing. (She leaned towards him, kissed his ear, then whispered:) I love you.

It was the first time – ever. He caught her face in his hands, pulled her down to him, and kissed her.

\- How can I get another one of these? he asked then, his voice a little strained. Cause I’d say anything. I’ll even make up shit if that’s what you want.

\- Well, ok, she said lightly, before lying down near him. Tell me a story.

\- About?

\- Ideally, your childhood. We’re still in the game.

\- All right. I went… (He hesitated.) …ice skating on the lake one day. With my… cousin. I was nine. And…

He stopped there, and Carrie just listened for a while, to the noise of the forest and the silence of the mountains.

\- And then I came home, he finally said. And… my cat was dead.

Another eternity passed, before Carrie asked:

\- Can you really ice skate on a lake near Seattle? 

\- I’m changing the particulars. That’s what we were taught to do – you had the same training, right, on how to lie? That the best thing was to take the truth and twist it just a little bit?

\- Oh sure, yes. I learned that. So if you’re doing it now… The lake could be… a desert?

\- Near Seattle?

\- Ok, the lake could be anything. Your cousin could be a friend, I guess. And the cat… can be a dog?

Quinn didn’t react.

\- Can the cat be a human being? Carrie asked, in a very low voice. But a cat is a small animal. Did you have a little brother - or a sister? 

He didn’t answer, of course, just got up, stretched again, then poured himself some coffee.

\- How... would a young child die? said Carrie, in a very low voice.

\- Neglect?

She couldn’t talk for a while after that – but Quinn didn’t seem sad, or depressed, he just was deep in thought. Then he added:

\- You know, I don’t think my childhood is that interesting, really. And I’m not deflecting, Carrie. It’s just that these events have no bearing on who I am anymore. I created myself – my personality, my opinions – much later. Reinventing myself… or just inventing it, really.

\- I understand.

\- Would you be ok with not bringing up the topic anymore?

\- Sure.

\- I still think Frannie needs another sweater, he said, and he took one in the basket and finally coaxed the little girl into wearing it, then he came back, and said, with a smile:

\- So I know everything about you? 

Carrie smiled – understanding the desire for a lighter mood, and deciding to play along. 

\- Oh yeah. You know every fucking stupid detail of my past… I told you everything I could remember, whether you were interested or not.

\- Who won the duels, you or Maggie?

She looked offended.

\- Who do you think?

\- I’m glad – glad I know every stupid detail about you, I mean. I like it.

\- Good.

Then Frannie asked Carrie to come with her to look at Mr Moretti’s cows, and they were gone for a while, and Quinn just lied down again, and he heard happy voices afar, and a car running somewhere, and people talking in another lane, Vincent and Claire, going to Eglise-Neuve maybe, they walked by, their voices disappeared, and then minutes just slowly drifted again.

And suddenly Carrie was back, looking at him with a very weird look. Quinn sat up instantly. 

Something was wrong.

\- Carrie?

He looked around – but Frannie was back at the stream, playing and humming to herself.

\- Carrie, what’s the matter?

\- I… You don’t know everything about me, she stammered. There is… there is something… It’s bad.

\- What?

\- It’s not that I kept it hidden from you, she whispered, still standing. I mean, not purposely. It’s… something that I’ve blocked, I guess. That I don’t think about, never, but just now, walking with Frannie, I did and now I can’t unthink it. 

\- Sit down, Carrie. Just… Just tell me.

She sat – the sun has disappeared, or the light had changed, or maybe nothing did, and it was just Carrie’s expression, but he felt cold, all of a sudden.

\- It is huge, Quinn. And I’m afraid… Ok, I’m very afraid of your reaction. And I guess I should have just… kept silent, but we’ve been… emphasizing trust between us and…

It was the right moment for him to be fucking chivalrous, to get her off the hook, to say something like “It’s fine, don’t tell me, keep your secret, it won’t change anything”, but he couldn’t. There was a pit in his stomach, he saw the fear in her eyes, and he just had to know.

She began.

\- You, er. You remember… Brody… 

\- Vividly.

\- And also, when Abu Nazir abducted me.

\- Yes.

And then she told him. The whole truth. How Abu Nazir had blackmailed Brody, holding Carrie’s life hostage. And what happened next. Quinn held his breath for most of the story, or so it seemed.

\- Holy shit, Carrie, he said, when she finished.

She couldn’t look at him.

\- I know. 

\- Brody murdered the vice president of the United States? he whispered, despite the fact that there was nobody to listen, except a little girl who was out of hearing anyway and a few insects in the grass. He murdered him and you were an accomplice?

\- I was a… a prisoner. A hostage. But I… I didn’t tell… anyone after, so… yes.

\- Fuck, Carrie, he breathed.

She didn’t answer – still didn’t look at him – she just felt sick. She knew that in Quinn’s eyes, she had always been this great, brilliant CIA agent – he had told her, numerously, that she was the best intelligence agent he had ever known, and she knew her tenacity, her ferocious loyalty to her work, to her country, was the one of the first reasons he got attached to her. And now, she was destroying it, destroying this image - she was a traitor – she had been, at least once - and it could destroy everything, it completely could shatter the foundation of their relationship.

\- You lied to me for years.

\- Quinn…

\- You told me Brody was innocent, he breathed, with rage in his voice.

\- He was innocent of the… CIA bombings…

\- Fuck!

Frannie turned to look at them – then fortunately, a stone fell down in her Castle for Shrimps, Squirrels and Barbies and her attention got back to where it belonged. 

\- Who knows about this? he said, in a lower voice.

\- Nobody, whispered Carrie. Everybody’s is dead… except me.

\- What about Nazir’s phone?

\- We found it… Do you remember? Brody explained the phone call by saying Abu Nazir kept me hostage to lure him back in… but that I had escaped before he could make a decision.

\- Except you didn’t escape.

\- No.

Her voice broke – she couldn’t talk – so she had finally fucked it up. She had fucked it all up – the most important relationship in her life, and in Frannie’s life, it just took her a few more years than expected. Telling the truth was a terrible mistake, what on earth was she thinking? Or maybe she was fucked from the start – the crimes she had committed, the people she had murdered, maybe she was fundamentally unlovable. Quinn had stood up suddenly, he walked towards Frannie, who began to ramble about… something, and then the girl walked into the forest, and Quinn followed her, his mind reeling, and he just watched her silently while she was picking wild strawberries, except there was no strawberries to pick so Frannie had made false ones with little balls of crumbled leaves (“Just pretend they’re red, dad, ok?”) and Quinn crouched near her, didn’t answer, just took a strand of her beautiful red hair and pushed it back behind her ear – her real father (her bio father, whatever), was really damn fucked up, but he was going to save her, he was going to protect her, to protect them both – and then he walked back to Carrie – and that’s only at that moment, seeing her in that state, that he realized what she must have been thinking. 

Carrie was aghast, so pale, her hands slightly trembling – he had not seen her like that since – Islamabad, at least.

\- Are you leaving me? she whispered, because of course at that moment Frannie came back from the woods with the fake green wild strawberries in her hand, and then, totally illogically, threw them into the stream for the shrimps to eat.

\- What? Of course not, Quinn whispered back.

\- Well, she said in a low voice, pacing up and down the grass, are you doing the next best thing?

\- What’s the next best thing?

\- Staying because of Frannie, and because you kind of feel sorry for me, but really now your opinion of me is so completely low that you won’t be able to look at me in the eyes anymore, and everything will be fucked up forever and we’ll both know it but you will keep repeating everything is fine and just never admit it?

\- Yes, he said, rolling his eyes, yes, this is exactly what will happen. In fact I’d better gouge my eyes right out, because looking at you is already so fucking painful, do you have a knife or something I can use? And will you please just fucking sit down for a moment?

She did, and he sat down near her, before taking her hands into his.

\- You have to admit what you told me is pretty fucking big.

\- It is.

\- But how could it change my opinion of you, Carrie? It doesn’t really add any new information. You loved the guy. He killed someone to save you. You didn’t turn him in. Of course you didn’t, if wouldn’t have been you if you did. Hell, I wouldn’t have turned you in, if you had done this to save me.

Carrie began to relax – just a little.

\- Thank you, she whispered.

\- It does change my opinion of Brody though, he whispered, after a quick glance at Frannie. He had to save you – and he did. He manned up, got the job done. Good for him. And he was clever about it, too, because nobody ever suspected him. God, I should have just killed the fucker, he growled, after a pause. I should have just put a fucking bullet in his fucking head. 

Carrie had started to breathe again. She took the goblet of coffee and drank – her hands were still shaking a little. Quinn was watching her.

\- Since when do you care so much about my opinion anyway? he asked, half joking, half… ok, maybe half fishing for something.

She looked at him as if he were an alien.

\- Are you kidding me?

\- Why are you kissing? asked Frannie, one minute later, coming back to show them a dead shrimp she had finally caught in the stream. (She looked at them with a slightly disapproving glance.) Rachel says you kiss a lot. She says it makes Céline sad.

\- Rachel has a lot of opinions for an eight years old, Quinn answered (slightly out of breath).

\- She says it’s because Céline n’a pas d’amoureux.

\- Céline doesn’t have a boyfriend for now, explained Carrie, but one day she will, and when she will she will kiss him all the time too. It’s good to show affection.

\- I concur, Quinn said, in a low voice.

\- For example, added Carrie, crouching near her daughter and taking her into her arms, what about showing affection to your little girl – by tickling her – and kissing her on the top of the head – and tickling her again – she added, between Frannie’s happy screams and then Carrie started. Oh my God you are soaked through! Your dad is right, you’re gonna catch pneumonia!

She fished for the change of clothes in the basket – but when Frannie was changed it was beginning to get cold anyway, in this altitude temperatures were dropping fast even in august – they would have to make a fire tonight – Quinn was teaching Frannie how to do it – so they began to slowly walk back, Frannie running happily ahead, and Quinn took Carrie by the waist and whispered in her ear:

\- Anything else you want to tell me?

\- No, that’s pretty much it.

\- Did Brody kill Kennedy?

\- You’re funny.

\- Oh my God, he did, didn’t he?

Carrie struck him playfully on the arm.

\- For God’s sake.

\- What about Princess Diana? Was he driving the car?

\- This is so wrong.

\- Did we actually land on the moon? Or did Brody fake that too?

They were arriving at the house, and Carrie was laughing despite her best efforts, and Frannie was already inside, and then Quinn stopped.

\- Fuck.

\- What?

\- I’m just thinking. Brody and you… And you and me, here, now…

\- Yes?

\- The shit we do for love, he whispered, and then they got back into the house, and began to look for the matches, and to gather wood, and another evening began.

 


	5. Girls' Night. (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (For Saja, Elle81 and Léa who gave me prompts.)
> 
> This is a long chapter, so it will be in two parts. This is the first part, next one tomorrow!

It was cold. The sun was setting outside, firing up the sky on the other side of the small windows. Mona was making the fire, while Carrie was preparing dinner – and the drinks – for the guests to come. Quinn was looking for a coat in the mess of outside clothes stacked near the entrance. 

\- Quinn, do you want a drink before you go? Carrie asked.

\- No.

\- Do you want to eat something?

\- No.

\- Do you want to wait for the others – to say hello? They should be here in a minute.

\- No. 

And just like that he was gone, slamming the door. Mona muttered:

\- God. That man of yours is just rude, Carrie.

\- Huh? (Carrie raised her head. She was making a local cocktail, with grapefruit liquor, white wine, rhum and liquid sugar – sophisticated work.) Why?

\- The way he talks to you sometimes! Really, I can’t imagine why a nice girl like you…

\- What? That was a normal conversation. 

\- Really? You mean he doesn’t even have the excuse of being in a bad mood?

Carrie began to slice the cheese and bread to go with the pre-dinner drinks.

\- I don’t know… I guess he was in a hurry to get out of the house – Girls’ Night is not his thing. And he has to spend the night in Issoire to be on time for that business meeting tomorrow – so, yeah, actually, you might be right. Maybe he was in a bad mood.

(Also, Quinn hated Mona, so her presence couldn't help, but that was not the kind of things that Carrie could say outloud.)

Mona shook her head.

\- You know, Carrie, I’m worried about you sometimes. I mean, I’m old enough to have seen a lot of those unbalanced relationships, with the man being verbally abusive, bossing the woman around… 

Carrie put down the knife before turning to Mona.

\- You think Quinn’s bossing me around? That’s hilarious.

\- Is it?

\- Mona, I swear. He’s not… There is no power unbalance in the relationship, and if there was – I would not be the aggrieved party. You have to believe me – Quinn and I are good. 

\- Ok. (Mona sighed.) I have no choice but to believe you, I suppose. Then give me a glass of this – very strange cocktail you’re making… Right, she commented, after taking a sip. I have to say, this is really really awful.

**

It was a beautiful month of September, with crispy air (icy at night), red and golden leaves, endless waves of lavender pines. The sky was so blue that Carrie and Frannie spent most of their time outside walking – with no particular aim, just being grateful that the world around them was so beautiful. And all the Parisians were back for the extended week-end, so Carrie had decided to host an impromptu Girls’ Night – knowing Quinn would be gone anyway. 

Girls’ Night had already happened once, at Claire’s house. 

The members were:

Mona (65, very elegant, Parisian, two kids, three grand kids. From an upscale family, never had to work a day in her life.).

Yvette (76, enjoying retirement with her husband. No kids. They owned a restaurant in Lyon, and she has worked every day in her life.) 

(So yeah, Mona and Yvette really, really, didn’t get along.)

Céline (30, single, a math teacher, Parisian, romantic, nerdy, pretty and shy.)

Claire (45, graphic designer, Parisian, very matter-of-fact, kind of sarcastic. Two kids, married to Vincent.)

And of course there was Carrie (Ex CIA agent, American, on the run, everyone thought she’s a translator and a teacher, in a relationship, one daughter.). 

So that was Girl’s Night, same guests, gathered tonight at Carrie’s house. The cocktail was indeed awful and they had ended up throwing away most of it, but fortunately, there was a lot of other alcohol on hand, and at 11pm, the eating part of dinner was over, but the five “girls” were still drinking, around the chimney, enjoying the flames.

Mona attacked around 11.15.

\- So, Carrie, tell us… How did you and Peter meet?

Carrie knew it was coming. First, Mona was very curious, and it was not her first attempt to get classified information. Second, it was a very, very small community, everybody knew everything about everybody’s here, and Carrie couldn’t go on dodging questions for long without appearing suspicious. 

So she was prepared, she had a plan – but first she had to demure a little.

\- I don’t know. I guess it’s not that interesting…

\- Oh come on, Carrie, said Claire. We know everything about Mona’s two previous marriages…

\- We know a little too much, Yvette commented.

\- We know about Céline’s broken heart, Claire continued, and Céline blushed. But we don’t know anything about you, Carrie. Well, we don’t know anything personal.

\- Well…

Carrie pretended to hesitate again – it was all part of the act. She waited for everybody to insist, she made a show of being embarrassed, she drank a sip of prune liquor, and at last she pretended to yield to peer’s pressure. 

\- All right… I was… married, Carrie whispered – and everybody just leaned toward her – Claire even dragged her armchair forward. To another man, that I loved passionately. 

The best lies are close to the truth. Take what really happened, and give it a little twist. Brody’s image was hovering before Carrie’s eyes while she explained:

\- But he was a complicated man, and our relationship was unhealthy. And then there was Quinn. He was my colleague, we were working in a big IT Consulting firm in Philadelphia. And we were very good friends – we made a very good team. 

\- Was he already in love with you? Céline asks – and shit, who would have thought darling sweet Céline would be the one with the difficult questions?

\- Well… (Carrie hesitated – feeling a little awkward.) I… I don’t know…

Claire shook her head.

\- Translation: he was in love with you, and you perfectly knew. But you didn’t want to acknowledge it, because it’s so useful to have a guy in the office who has a crush on you… I mean, he does stuff for you for free… Right? We’ve all been there.

\- Absolutely, Mona commented. That’s how you play the game. You smile, you flirt, and men end up doing all the work.

\- I think feminists may have a problem or two with your theory, Mona, Claire laughed.

\- I never asked a man for anything, protested Yvette haughtily. But then I worked alongside my husband for forty years…

\- Men do it too, Céline whispered. I mean, they flirt with you, and then you do stuff for them…

Mona shrugged.

\- Céline, you’re doing something wrong.

\- Anyway, Carrie continued, my husband left for the middle-east. We were separated for months. And…

Now it was coming: the big, big lie. The one which made things easier and which was also scandalous enough to satiate everybody’s need for gossip for years. Nobody would look for another secret after this one – that was Carrie’s hope anyway. 

\- Then, I had a one night stand with Quinn, Carrie whispers. And that’s when Frannie was conceived. While I was still married.

It worked. Everybody was staring at Carrie, mouths agape.

\- Shit, Claire finally uttered. Who would have thought? You look so normal, Carrie! I mean… so well adjusted, you know? And there you were… seducing colleagues… having adulterous relationships… children out of wedlock…

Carrie couldn’t help to chuckle at the “well adjusted” comment. Yvette, who was old fashioned, was radiating disapprobation.

\- Well, I guess… Better have remorse than regrets, right? Mona commented. Sometimes you just have to follow your heart…

\- Or someone else’s penis, said Claire. 

\- Is that why you’re living in the mountains now? Céline asked. To get away from your husband? I mean… What happened next?

\- Wait! Claire stood up. Stop! We need more alcohol for this.

Carrie waited till the glasses were full. Everybody was listening with rapt attention (even Yvette, even if she pretended not to). Carrie continued.

\- My husband got… out of the picture. We got divorced, and I never saw him again. Quinn and I continued to work together, but despite the circumstances, I was not ready to be with him. 

\- Oh my God, Céline whispered. Poor Peter.

\- And when I was finally ready – when I realized I was in love with him - we had a misunderstanding, and he left, and I didn’t see him for two fuc… two whole years.

\- Wow, Claire commented, sipping her Avèze. Quite the soap opera.

\- That poor little girl, growing up without her father, Yvette muttered. All because of the mistakes of _other_ people.

\- I decided to forget Quinn – and I did, Carrie continued. I tried to completely erase him from my mind. Then, two years later. I was in… Amsterdam. I was having a crisis at the time – I had decided to start a new life, to change everything. My job, where I lived… everything. I wanted a clean slate. And I was leaving - I was going to the train station, when I met Quinn – in complicated circumstances. We had not seen each other since… two years ago, the night we had the misunderstanding. I told him I loved him, Carrie whispered, I asked him to come with me. To leave everything for me. And he did. We came here. _Et... voilà._

There’s a silence. Then Claire finished her glass.

\- Wow. Ok. That was a good story. Give me some of that prune liquor.

\- It ends well, says Yvette, slowly, and I am glad for you and especially for your little girl, but your actions were quite irresponsible. And I suppose you broke the heart of your husband, Carrie.

Carrie shook her head.

\- My husband was… a piece of work. 

\- Oh, come on, Yvette! (Mona helped herself with some cheese). Didn’t you do anything crazy in your life? You know – for love?

\- No, said Yvette, haughtily. I’m not that type.

\- … because I certainly did, Mona continued.

\- Well, you are that type.

Céline intervened – it could get ugly pretty quickly between the two senior ladies.

\- Yvette, how did you meet Lucien? Your husband?

Yvette hesitated.

\- My parents hid a few Jewish families in their farm during the war. Lucien was the son of one of them – we had the same age. One day, his parents were caught and deported to Auschwitz. 

\- All right, Claire said. That’s quite the story too.

Mona and Céline gave her a disapproving look and Claire shut up (she was a little drunk).

\- Lucien was an orphan, so after the war, my parents raised us together. When we were 15 – we fell in love. But of course my father disapproved.

\- Why? Céline asked. 

\- Because Lucien was Jewish. Even if he was not religious at all. He didn’t even believe in God.

\- But they had saved him! They had adopted him!

\- It’s one thing to save someone, it’s another to want that same someone to marry your only daughter. That’s what my father said anyway.

\- But if you loved Lucien…

Yvette shook her head.

\- It was 1952, Céline. You were born in… the eighties? I don’t think you can understand. It was another time.

Mona nodded.

\- It was another… universe.

\- It was. (Yvette stayed silent for a few seconds, while Carrie thought that it was the first time she saw Yvette and Mona agreeing on anything.) My parents threw Lucien’s out of the house, and I was forbidden to see him. But he got a job in a restaurant in town, so we managed to meet in secret – holding hands, talking… not even kissing. We waited for six years. Then the day I turned 21, I left my parent’s home with one suitcase, met Lucien at City Hall and we were married two hours after. It’s been 55 years, and since that moment, we never spent a night apart.

\- Wow, said Claire for the third time of the evening. Yvette wins, Carrie. Her story is better than yours.

\- It definitely is. To love stories, Carrie says, raising her glass, and everybody drank.

Then everybody began to talk about the war – except Céline, who turned to Carrie and whispered:

\- But how was it at first? I mean, after Peter decided to follow you? Because… you had never dated before. So, from not seeing each other for two years, to living together… in one day? That must have been weird.

\- It was a weird transition, Carrie admits. Quinn was claustrophobic at first, you know, like – emotionally. We almost broke up. But then… it got better.

\- He left his life for you, just like that.

\- Yeah, well, Carrie said dismissively. It was not much of a life.

\- But still!

Carrie smiled.

\- Yes. But still.

Céline smiled back, then went to the kitchen make herself a sandwich of bread and Cantal (all this alcohol was making them hungry) and Carrie sipped her Avèze.

Yes, she, and Quinn… it was a weird transition. A weird beginning. First Carrie declared her affections for him in the car, then he decided to follow her in her new life, then they fucked on the floor of his hideout and suddenly they were on a train to Paris. With: two bags of guns (yeah, you read well), one suitcase of fucking money (no kidding), and, you know, a normal suitcase. Thank God for the European Union and no frontiers or customs.

The day was still so clear in Carrie’s mind. How they were sitting in first class, holding hands. Carrie was almost happy. Quinn had said that they would get Frannie back – that they would find a way – and for a while, she had just relaxed, dozing on his shoulder, while he stroked her palm.

But then a few hours later they were in Paris, both being totally paranoid. They pretended to book a room in a nice hotel (but they really went to another, then another), they did a hundred evasive maneuvers before finally checking in for real in a cheap motel in the north of town. They were so fucking tired – they climbed in bed together, Carrie in her underwear, Quinn wearing boxers and a tee-shirt – it was the first time they ever shared a bed – but they didn’t even realize it – they just fell asleep in a matter of seconds.

A gunshot woke them up.

Except it was not a gunshot. It was a metallic clang – followed by plenty others – city workers preparing metallic stalls for the market of the next day. At four in the fucking morning.

\- For fuck sake, Carrie whispered. They’re not going to get to murder me, you know. Because I’m going to die of a heart attack first. 

Except now they were awake. Side by side, legs touching in the minuscule bed of this minuscule hotel room. Carrie was self-conscious, and Quinn was embarrassed too – Carrie could feel it - which was kind of stupid, because they already had sex once. They had already gotten it out the way.

But it seemed it was very much in the way again. 

\- So, what’s the plan for tomorrow? she asked.

\- The rental car office opens at 8. We get a car, we begin the drive south.

\- Ok. 

\- We still have time to sleep.

\- Ok, Carrie said slowly. (A silence.) To sleep, or… You know.

At first he didn’t even move – it was literally the first day of their relationship, and Carrie hadn’t realized yet that he was kind of shy, really. Not in general, but – with women? Or maybe just with her? Anyway, she suddenly felt shy too – she couldn’t find the courage to make a move – God, how stupid was this situation? Then at last, he put his hand on her hip – she shivered – desire, surprise, or the sheer weight of this situation, both of them together, at that moment in time – anyway the shiver got him in overdrive, because suddenly he was all over her, and after – well, they never got to sleep again, they just spent the small hours in the morning kissing, making love, touching, not talking much – time seemed silvery and endless, and Carrie thought that she had never, never known a more romantic moment than this cold and grey dawn, while the sky was slowly turning white, trash cans were being noisily collected on the sidewalk outside and two drunks were shouting insults at each other somewhere in the vicinity. 

\- So that was the romantic sex, she whispered.

It was 7 am and they had reluctantly decided to get up and get dressed.

\- Yeah. How was it?

\- Not too bad, she answered, and he bit her on the neck, just below the ear – she kept the mark for two weeks at least.

Then, forget romance. It took them three days to make what should have been a five hours drive to the mountains, because, again, they took a thousand precautions. When they finally arrived in Eglise-Neuve, a small town (a big village really), with it’s beautiful ancient church and its gorgeous houses, and around them the splendor of the forest and the majestic peace of the mountains – they were just going fucking crazy. 

Carrie was, at least. Because it seemed that nobody was following them. That nobody was tracking them. So what did it mean, really? That, you know, nobody was following them, nobody was tracking them – or that they had missed major clues, that the enemies were everywhere and that they were going to be slaughtered right here in their sleep?

The plan was to settle in a hotel for a while, get a feel of the situation, and once safe, look for a house together in one of the more isolated hamlets, to begin their new life. The hotel was nice, it was owned by a Swedish couple (for some reason) and it was always full of hikers from everywhere in the world, so as soon as Carrie heard German, or Russian, or American she just jumped and had to refrain the need to run – or, you know, to shoot everybody. And the bedroom was so fucking small – they thought it was minuscule in Paris, but... oh, it was a very pretty bedroom, and old-fashioned, and the swedes were so fucking nice (too nice, Carrie was thinking, did they have something to hide?) and she had never lived with a man before, and Quinn had never lived with a woman before, and they were stuck in this claustrophobic little prison… It lasted a week. 

At the end they were ready to strangle each other.

\- I have to go, said Quinn, one morning.

Carrie’s heart sank. 

\- I have to go to Paris, he explained. To the bank, to move some money around – and I want to get a good chunk of it cash. I’ll come back tomorrow.

\- Ok.

So she drove him to the train station. Absolutely convinced that he was going to break up with her, right there, on the fucking platform. Then he would get on the train… and that would be the end. I mean, after all, why not? He had done his duty. He had saved her, he had gotten her where she needed to be, she had money, excellent fake IDs, he could leave now without guilt and never come back. 

And Quinn’s was watching the trees through the windows of the moving car, absolutely convinced that it was the last time he would be in a car with her – she was going to break up with him, right there, on the fucking platform, and why not? She was safe now. He had saved her, he had gotten where she needed to be, she had money, excellent fake IDs, she didn’t need him anymore.

So, ten minutes later, here they were. On the fucking platform, while people were passing by, getting on the train – which was leaving in two minutes. And they had, like, the more stilted conversation ever. 

\- So… she said.

\- So.

\- Have a good time in Paris.

\- Yes, Quinn said. Right. Be careful. Be careful here, I mean.

\- Sure. Yes. I will.

And then he got on the train. They didn’t even kiss good-bye. Carrie watched the train leave, thinking:

_I will never see him again._

 

(To be continued...)


	6. Girls' Night (Part 2.)

Quinn was supposed to come back the next day, by the 6 pm train. Carrie didn’t sleep, she didn’t eat, using her time and energy to systematically crush all hope, all feelings. 

Of course he was not going to come back. That was his way – to disappear, like he did last time – leaving for Syria. Well, fine. Good for him. Good riddance. Whatever. She was not the sentimental type. She was just going to forget about him, she was just going to stop thinking about him – it would be as if it never happened. She was not going to be that girl in the station, waiting for the train to arrive, watching people walk by her and waiting for her lover to come back – and of course the guy would never show in those kind of scenarios – nope, that wasn’t her, it would never be her – never. 

But at 5.30 pm, Carrie was at the train station – not because she was sentimental – at all. She didn’t care. Nope, madam, no sir, not caring. She was there because she was worried. Because she had this thought – that she couldn’t shake off – that maybe something had happened to Quinn in Paris, and that he would not come back, not because he had dumped her, but because he had been killed. Or because he had been wounded, and was dying in a ditch somewhere. And that would be her fault – and time was passing she was getting more worried, and then it was 6 pm, the train was entering the station – and her heart was pounding, panic, uncertainty – but she was preparing for the worst – of course he wouldn’t be on the train, of course he wouldn’t show, he was faraway already – with a girl – no, with girls, plural – a truck full of whores - what on earth was she hoping?

He was one of the first ones out of the train.

He almost jumped from the car – the first car, he walked to her, took her in her arms, kissed her passionately, then whispered – I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – but she was whispering the same thing – I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry – and then they were kissing again, and people were looking – Issoire wass a really small town – so he took her by the hand and dragged her in the darkest corner of the smallest Café across the street, and they just sat across each other, holding hands.

\- I didn’t think you’d be here, he said. I didn’t think you’d be waiting for me.

She just nodded – or shook her head – and didn’t answer. She didn’t want to show him that she had been worried – that she cared that much – but she was on the verge of tears, so he had to see it anyway. 

\- Listen, Carrie, Quinn said in a very low voice – after a few seconds. The thing is – I’m scared.

\- I think we… I think nobody’s spotted us, she whispered. I think we’re safe.

\- Yes, I think so too, but… (He held her hands tighter.) I’m scared you will get killed anyway. I’m scared they’ll kidnap you before my eyes and I won’t be able to stop them. And I’m scared… I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up, to use – something you once said. (His voice caught.) That you’ll break up with me. That this is my only chance and that I’m blowing it.

\- Ok.

Carrie stood up.

\- Carrie?

Carrie walked to the counter, asked for two expressos. To hide her reaction. To give herself time to think. 

She felt choked up. The most romantic, sentimental thing that Quinn ever said to her, during all these years, was “We get out together.” And, in Berlin, he had said “Considered it established” when she asked if he had feelings for her for a while. Not exactly a Shakespearean speech. Now, of course, she knew (she was still at the counter, waiting for the expressos, thinking she couldn’t face him right now) of course she knew that if Quinn was not the one for romantic speeches, he was one for romantic actions. Meeting her in Pakistan, to work for her, when he wanted so much to get out of the CIA. Saving her, when he was hired to kill her. Deciding, after a twenty minutes conversation, to leave everything for her.

Yeah. All of these things might be classified as romantic.

But... “I’m scared that this is my only chance and I’m blowing it?” How was she “his only” chance? She was a chance, maybe, but Quinn could get any girl he wanted, anytime. 

Two expressos just appeared before Carrie.

\- Et les cafés pour la p’tite dame…

She knew Quinn was in love with her, of course, or he would not be here now – right? But – there were many kinds – levels – of love. Many different intensities of being in love. And now she was realizing...

\- Merci.

Carrie walked back to the table, with the coffees, and sat down again. He was stone cold. Arms crossed, face unreadable – with a hint of rage. Of course. She hadn't even thought about what it must have looked like – felt like - he saying – what he just said – and she just, you know – ignoring him and walking away.

\- Shit. Fuck. God. (She took her head in her hands.) I’m so bad at this. Quinn, I’m sorry. 

\- You’re not always bad at this, he answered. At least not with Brody you weren’t. 

Ok. Wow.

\- Ok. Wow, she said – but then she laughed. (In a way she preferred this. She knew how to deal with aggression, coming from him.) That was a low blow. 

(But she was really kind of impressed.) He smirked.

\- Low blow? Why? It’s just the truth. You were very... expressive with him. I heard part of it. And saw another part.

\- Yeah? Well, good for you. And also, fuck you.

\- Fuck you too, he answered.

Aw. That was nice. Familiar. Safe. But… Carrie was not in the mood for a sparring match. No. She felt...

\- All right. Listen, Quinn. This, here… Us… This is different. This is not like... Brody. And also – I don’t want to fight, she breathed. Please. Because I'm so happy you're here. I was so scared you’d never come back. I thought you wouldn’t be on the train. I thought… 

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. Couldn’t go on.

\- Why? he uttered, his voice hoarse – clearly she was not the only one fighting emotions.

\- When you left for Syria? 

\- I… (He tried to chuckle, but it didn’t really take.) This is different. (He looked at her.) It is, right?

\- Yes. Yes. It is. 

A long silence followed. Then she tried to smile – and finally succeeded. 

\- Also, this week, she said, in the hotel – it was not only you. I was obnoxious too.

\- That’s true.

She laughed.

\- No, see, you’re supposed to contradict me, here. You’re supposed to be gallant and to take all the blame.

\- Fuck that. You’ve been awful. 

He smiled at her, kind of shyly, then took her hand. A good minute passed before he talked again - and then his voice was much clearer.

\- So, we're good?

\- We're good.

\- Ok. Then... Carrie, listen. I need space. Not space from the relationship, I need actual, physical space, to live in. Cause if we go on like this, I’m going to burn this hotel down.

\- Oh, we’re not going back to this hotel room.

\- Are we going camping? Because that’s a great idea. I'll get the gear, you...

\- Yeah. Right. No. But we could rent a house here – I mean, in Eglise Neuve. Before finding the right one to buy. There are plenty of them - and they’re really cheap. We could get a huge one, we'd ask for two bedrooms, and you could lock yourself in one of them for days. I could pass food under the door. Or throw it through the window. And then, you know, I’d go dancing, and flirt with the locals.

\- No. I don’t like the idea of two bedrooms. I like the idea of… our bedroom, where we do… stuff.

\- Ah, stuff. I like stuff. 

\- Stuff is good.

\- Stuff is great. 

\- But I could have an office, Quinn continued. With a bed, where I could sleep sometimes.

\- Oh, yes, because that’s completely different. That’s not like having two bedrooms at all. 

\- Nope. It’s not. 

\- All right then.

And they just looked at each other, happily, and in his eyes there was – a sort of subdued joy, and it was so different, so moving – that Carrie couldn’t hold his gaze for long. 

**

\- Ok. Avèze is fine, prune liquor is fine, but… Carrie, do you have something a little more refined? For, you know, civilized women living in the XXIe century?

That was Mona’s voice. Fortunately, Claire answered right away – giving some time to Carrie to gather her thoughts. Girls Night. Still going on. Fire burning, bottles emptying.

\- I think prune liquor is very civilized.

\- You would never drink this in Paris, Claire, said Mona with a dismissive gesture. You’re just lowering your expectations because we’re in the country, and you want to feel local.

\- Exactly. (Claire raised her glass.) Céline, I want to feel even more local. Please fill this with the uncivilised liquor.

\- I’m going to get you some white wine, Mona, said Carrie.

She went to the wine cellar, and when she came back, the girls were having a conversation about their exes. Carrie listened to the very entertaining (and cruel) portraits of Claire's two ex-boyfriends - before she married Vincent. Mona countered with a scary description of her second husband’s first wife, who (if you believed her) was an obsessive sex addict – anyway, it didn’t have to be true to be funny, Carrie thought.

\- In short, I hate exes, Mona concluded. I mean – I hate my husbands’ and my lovers’ exes. I like mine. We stay close. 

Carrie laughed.

\- Oh, I can picture it, Mona. You, in an elegant Parisian café… Looking your best, sipping a cocktail, manipulating a poor guy who has been in love with you half of his life to do your bidding…

\- Indeed, Mona said proudly – the picture is pretty accurate. 

\- Does Peter have exes, Carrie? Céline asked. Did you ever meet one?

\- Actually – Carrie hesitated - yes. We saw one of his ex girlfriend just four months ago.

\- What happened?

\- Well, we were in Marseille, and Quinn and I met, er... Her name is Ingrid. It was quite a shock to see her – neither of us imagined she would be there, in the south of France. She was on vacation.

Yes, it has been quite a shock, but mostly because Quinn and Carrie were supposed to be dead and buried, and that Astrid could blow their cover, and put them in mortal danger again. When she spotted them, Astrid just froze – on the sidewalk, just staring at them – completely stunned, like she had been struck by lightning. Then she turned back and just walked away quickly – so Quinn whispered to Carrie: “Don’t go back to the hotel, just wait for me somewhere” and ran in pursuit of Astrid. 

Carrie went to a café – and an hour later, Quinn called, to tell here that everything was fine. Carrie could go back to the hotel – Astrid would not betray them. Then Quinn told her that he and Astrid had to talk, and that he didn’t know when he would be back tonight. He hung up.

Carrie hesitated for a while. Then she called him back, and said that if he wanted too – he could spend the night with Astrid – you know, really spend the night. With Astrid. If he wanted too. 

\- Right, had said Quinn, in a noncommittal tone, and then he had hung up again.

When Carrie explained to the girls what she said – still changing the particulars of course – she was met with a concert of horrified cries.

\- You told him it was ok to have sex with his ex? Claire asked, flabbergasted. Are you crazy?

\- Oh my God Carrie that’s so brave! Céline commented. But... I wouldn’t have done it. I just… wouldn’t have.

Mona looked suspicious.

\- Were you testing him? 

Yvette was just looking at them, horrified – she has checked out of the conversation long ago.

\- I was not testing him! (Carrie laughed.) Come on, aren’t we in France? Isn’t this kind of things expected? Sexual freedom, ménage à trois and everything?

\- Er… No. That’s an American fantasy, Claire protested. It doesn’t happen for real.

\- Oh, it happens, Mona protested.

\- Ok. (Claire shook her head.). Mona, don’t get offended – but it doesn’t happen to people who were born after the seventies happened.

\- You’re right. It might be a generational thing. You young people are so prude…

Claire smiled.

\- I think the word you’re looking for is “rational”. 

\- Some people of our generation did behave, even throughout the seventies, muttered Yvette, but Mona didn't have time to react because Céline was already asking:

\- So? Did he… Did Peter sleep with Ingrid?

\- No, Carrie answered. He came back the following morning. He told me they had kissed good-bye, though. 

\- So he did spend the night, Mona said.

\- Yes, but they didn’t…

\- You believe him?

\- I do.

The other women looked thoughtful – then Céline asked:

\- What if he had? How would you have reacted if he had… taken you up on your word and slept with her?

\- Good question, Mona said. Because, Carrie, I still think you were testing him. Maybe subconsciously. 

Carrie was silent for a few seconds.

\- Well, I wouldn’t have jumped for joy, obviously. But, it would not have been a big deal. Chances are he’s never going to see her again. And I have no doubt that he… I mean, I’m not insecure when it comes to him.

I do not doubt his love for me, she wanted to say, but some words were still difficult to say aloud.

\- Ok, said Claire. (Who seemed a little strange. Thoughtful. Even somber. She took a pack of cigarette and got one out.) Carrie, can I smoke here? I mean, if I open the window and if I sit on the still… And if I blow the smoke outside…

\- Sure, you can. 

\- I thought, maybe, with Frannie’s upstairs…

\- Yeah, I’m not paranoid about this stuff, but just don’t ever let Quinn see you doi-

Carrie abruptly shut up – because of, course – of course! – that’s when the door opened and Quinn entered. Claire kind of hilariously threw her cigarette below the couch, and all the "girls" said “Hi!” or “Hi Peter!”. 

(With a very amused look on their face, Carrie thought. Yeah, with all the stories she told, he was going to be very popular with women now.)

\- Hi, she said, standing up. So what happened? I thought you were spending the night in Issoire.

\- Yeah. Well, the road is blocked because there was a flood or… who knows, really – and anyway, I got a message from Philippe’s brother, the meeting is reported to next week, so.

\- Sorry about that. Listen, do you mind if I don’t join you right now? We’re not quite finished here.

\- Drink away, ladies, said Quinn, who weirdly enough, seemed in a better mood now - after his useless drive. (He just needed a few hours alone, Carrie thought.) I hope you’re all having fun.

\- Oh we are, said Mona, who seemed happy as a cat who just not only got the cream, but also got all the info she wanted about said cream. 

Quinn just waved goodnight and went upstairs. The stairs and the floors were creaking as always. Frannie’s door was closed, so Quinn went in the master bedroom, as silently as possible, trying not to wake her – but sure enough – less than one minute after, Frannie’s cute little head was appearing at the door.

\- Frannie, it’s late, he said. Go back to bed.

She hugged him (anything for not going back to sleep.)

\- But I heard the door, she said. And mom's still awake with her friends.

\- Yes, but mom is a grown up. Back to sleep, now.

Frannie didn’t budge.

\- What are they talking about? Mom and the others?

God only knows, Quinn thought. Fortunately, Carrie knew how to hold her alcohol.

\- Books and politics, certainly. Now, to bed.

\- Are they talking about boys? And love?

For God’s sake.

\- Hopefully not. Frannie…

\- You and mom are in love, right?

\- Yes. And now…

\- Why are you not married?

For God fucking sake. 

\- Because… (Quinn hesitated.) Look, Frannie, marriage is a deal, right? Like the deal is, you can only drink soda on Saturdays? And on your birthday?

\- And on Christmas day.

\- And on Christmas day. Well, marriage is a deal – two people decide that they will stay together all their life, and love and support each other. And your mom and I already made that deal.

Not aloud, he thought. But it’s implied.

\- So we don’t need to get married, he finished. Because it’s already settled.

\- Ok.

\- Now, to bed. And no discussion.

He took the girl back to her room and prudently closed the door behind her – he was absolutely sure it would not do for Frannie to hear some of the chatter downstairs – and his suspicions were confirmed when he heard Mona’s voice asking:

\- So, Carrie, why don’t you and Peter get married?

For fucking God fucking sake. Fucking Mona.

\- I don’t think we need to, Carrie answered.

\- Ok, but do you want to? Céline asked. 

Quinn should have gone back to his room, he should not have listened to a conversation who was none of his business.

But...

\- Not… really, said Carrie. It’s like – we went through a lot of things together… and so... I don’t know. It wouldn’t “add” anything, you know?

Exactly.

\- And do you want another child?

Quinn froze. There was a long silence downstairs – well, maybe not that long, maybe five or six seconds. 

\- I… Quinn would never go for it, Carrie finally said.

\- Why? Céline asked.

\- He… It’s complicated. Family stuff. But he wouldn’t.

\- So you do want another kid, Claire said.

Carrie hesitated again. 

\- I… It’s not on the table. Can someone please change the conversation?

\- I don’t know, said Mona. Maybe you should just go for it, without his permission. Again, better to have remorse than regret, right? 

Carrie shook her head.

\- Yeah. I’m not doing that.

\- You are so amoral sometimes, Mona, Claire said. It’s refreshing. What about you? Do you have any regrets? Children? Your love life? Any crazy thing you didn’t do?

\- Nope. (Mona took another sip of white wine.) I did all the crazy things I wanted to do.

Yvette just scoffed – and Céline turned to her, smiling.

\- You know, Yvette – you lied to us earlier.

Yvette looked at her, scandalized.

\- I certainly did not.

\- Yes, you did, Céline insisted. You told us you weren’t the type to do any… follies. For love. But actually, you were the craziest of us all. You fell in love at fifteen, with a guy our parents disapproved of, you left your family, your home, everything… to marry him. At 21. Isn’t that… a little crazy?

Yvette stammered for a while – she actually blushed – while everybody, even Mona, was looking at her fondly.

\- I… er… I really don’t know how to answer that.

\- You can’t, Mona said, kindly. Because Céline is right.

\- Did you ever regret it? Céline asked. 

Yvette considered the question for a few moments. Then she smiled. A sweet, tender smile, who just lighted up her usual stern expression.

\- Never, she said. (She shook her head.) Never. 

They all smiled too – their own, private smiles – Carrie felt a deep, serene happiness. Céline was melancholic, Mona seemed lost in pleasant memories. The silence was only broke by the noises of the fire, the wood creaking. It was windy outside.

\- I’m going to leave Vincent, said Claire.

\- What?

They all protested.

\- Oh my God… Don’t say that! Céline whispered.

\- Fuck, Claire, protested Carrie. What… Why?

\- Claire, you have two children, said Yvette, sternly. You've been married for ten years!

\- Well, Mona intervened. If she feels she has to… To stay true to herself… Then…

\- What does that even mean, “to stay true to herself”? Yvette protested. One has to think of the children first…

\- Calm down, ladies, said Claire. (She took a sip of her drink – she seemed calm, composed.) This is not a sudden idea. Your conversation didn’t push me into taking any rash decision. I’ve been pondering this for a while. 

\- But you… (Céline was still horrified.) But still – Claire, you reacted to Yvette saying…

\- Yes. (Claire put her glass down). I did react to what Yvette said. She never regretted her marriage, while I regret mine every fucking day.

There was only silence after that – broken by Mona whispering: “Carrie is a bad influence on us. We’re all swearing much more than we used to.”

\- Listen, Claire… Carrie began.

Claire stood up – took her coat.

\- I’m going home. I don’t want to discuss this. But it was a wonderful evening, Carrie, thank you. And you all helped me – I needed to hear – well, all of these stories did help with the decision making.

That was a chilling thought. Yvette and Céline stood up too. “It’s late”, Céline said, and then Mona said her good-byes also, and Carrie took Claire’s arm just before she was leaving:

\- Claire. Just – I’m really the last one to… I really, really shouldn’t give relationship advice. The only thing is – take some time to think. I acted impulsively all my life, and bitterly regretted it sometimes.

Claire shook her head.

\- I am the opposite from impulsive. I’m going to sit on this for six months. Then I’ll talk to Vincent. But really, I think the matter is settled. His bookshop is failing. I’m the one with the money. Which gives me all the power when negotiating the custody arrangements, and I’ll be the one to keep the house here, certainly.

\- Wow, whispered Carrie. Ok.

And then they were all gone, and Carrie felt cold. First because the fire was dying, and it was actually cold, but also because of – well, that was not a fitting closure to a night which was supposed to be about love. Which was a word Carrie so rarely used before, she thought, and that that she uttered (or thought) numerous time tonight. 

Wow. Claire, and her cold determination – Carrie felt bad for everybody involved, and there was also a selfish aspect: Vincent and Claire were her friends, they were here every summer, and Rachel, who was eight years old, was Frannie’s best friend. Of course, if Claire did keep the mountain house, she and the kids would come back every summer anyway. 

But Vincent… God. Carrie shivered. It was cold.

She began to climb up the stairs – and Quinn was there, sitting on the last step, waiting for her.

Carrie sat down near him, their shoulders touching. That was good. She needed his presence.

\- Did you hear that? 

\- Yes. Sorry. I know you like them.

\- Yeah. (Carrie shook her head.) Claire scares me, sometimes, you know? With all her… rationality.

\- Right. (Quinn put his arm around her.) I like my women irrational and passionate.

\- You’re happy then.

\- I am. Listen, Carrie. Radical honesty, right?

\- Sure.

\- I have been listening to the conversation for the last ten minutes or so. I didn’t mean to, but I heard the part about marriage…, and then, well, after that, I’ve been eavesdropping. 

\- It’s fine, I don’t care. You can listen. (What had they been saying for the last ten minutes? She couldn’t even remember.) Sorry about all the girl talk. 

\- So you want another child.

Carrie blushed – then stuttered.

\- I… Er… Listen, Quinn, I’m so sorry. I know you’re not…

\- Doesn’t the radical honesty rule means you had to talk to me about this?

\- Well… I was going to… 

\- Ok.

\- What do you mean by “ok”?

\- I mean, ok. Let’s do it.

\- What about John? Carrie whispered. 

She had this thought that Quinn would never want another child because of his relationship with the son he already had – or more exactly, because of the lack of the relationship with the son he already had. If she had been separated from Frannie, it seemed to her that the guilt would have slowly poisoned her love for another child, if she ever had one.

\- John is fine. I’m following him on Facebook.

\- What? Really? (She took his hand.) Quinn, you’re prudent, right? 

\- Changed the IP, took a VPN – don’t worry. (He sighed.) His mom’s husband seems like a nice guy, but to be honest, the thought that really comforts me is that the family is so close. Julia’s parents. They are good, grounded people, they live just across the street. I like that.

\- That’s good.

\- I sent Julia a lot of money. Anonymously, but she’ll know it’s from me. Do you mind?

\- Of course not. 

There was a silence.

\- So let’s do it, he whispered, and there was so much emotion on his face, in his voice, that she couldn’t face him for a moment – she kept looking at the stairs – she had a knot in her stomach.

\- OK, she whispered back, finally. Let’s do it.

She felt her hands shaking. She hid them – she didn’t know why, she still felt like hiding her emotions from him – not all the time, fortunately. 

\- We really have to do better on the honesty thing, she finally uttered (and her voice was trembling too, and he noticed, he hold her a little tighter, without looking at her). I… I have to… tell you more… stuff, and you should have told me, about following John on Facebook and everything. Because I would… I mean, it’s good. I’m glad you’re doing this.

\- Considering our previous careers, it’s not surprising honesty and communication are not our strong suits. But we’re doing better.

\- We are. 

She waited a moment. For her heart to slow down.

\- Oh, want to hear something funny? Mona thinks you’re bossing me around.

\- That is funny.

Another silence.

\- So, we’re good, Quinn whispered, after a while – still holding her – and the question made no sense, but she knew what he meant, her heart was beating fast again, and she answered:

\- Very good.

 

(The end.)

(I think.)


End file.
